The Truth Behind the Mask
by Christine Eponine Watson
Summary: Even though it says that this is about Erik and Christine, this is actually about their son, also named Erik, and the love of his life. What would happen if Christine left Raoul and returned to Erik? What if they had a son who was deformed, but not as badly as his father?
1. Chapter 1

**Author's note: Hello everyone reading this! This is my first fanfic and I would really really love comments, ideas, reviews, anything! So PLEASE review! Thank you so much for reading!**

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The tears flowed freely over his ravaged face, a face which years had not improved in the least. He had suffered decades of tormenting loneliness, years of agonizingly humiliating torture, and years of depression to finally find companionship. But now she is gone. "Linette Viardot," beautiful words, horribly immortalized on a stone slab. She is gone. Taken from him forever. Last year she died. Even though they had thirty glorious years together, it was not enough. An eternity would not have been enough.

Slightly consoled by the presence of his children and grandchildren, Erik found the courage and resolution to complete the task he had come here to do. With a heart wrenching sense of finality, he removed the secret chest in her tombstone. Thrice his trembling hands fumbled and nearly dropped his most prized possession, a stunningly bright ring that had been Linette's engagement ring.

Erik swallowed back his tears, and placed the tiny piece of his beloved wife in the velvet-lined compartment. He slid it back into the tombstone and sealed it.

Erik's eldest daughter, Serena, draped her delicate arm around his shoulders. Facing her, he was once again struck by how much she looked like her mother. She had Linette's mass of auburn curls, petite nose, full red lips, and enormous eyes that appeared to change color from blue to green to grey. The similarities between Serena and Erik lay in their pale skin and their hands. Hands that obviously belonged to a pianist, long, slender, and delicate fingers that contained a hidden strength and dexterity. Their main similarities, however, were in their personalities and the workings of their minds.

"We should go now, papa," Serena's hushed appeal broke Erik's reverie. He blinked back the memories and made certain that his silent sobs had not caused his porcelain mask to come off, and nodded to his daughter.

As Erik stepped back from Linette's grave, he gently placed a bouquet of roses the color of fresh blood in front of the tombstone. He looked at his family, his three children and four grandchildren, with a mixture of sadness, love, and longing. He noticed that his son, Gaston, had tears streaked down his cheeks.

Gaston was a flawless model of how Erik would have looked, had he not been born deformed. The opposite of his elder sister, Serena, Gaston had his father's looks (without the deformity), and his mother's personality. Gaston tightly gripped the hand of his wife, Arianne. She, too, had a steady flow of tears.

A quick glance at their party, and Erik noticed that they all were crying. It brought a fresh wave of tears to his eyes to see their love for his Linette.

Erik dried his one accessible eye; the other was hidden beneath his mask; and said, "Serena is right. It is time we leave this morbid place." It started to snow. Erik added, "We can have hot chocolate and tea at home."

As the family shuffled towards Gaston's new automobile, Kara, Serena and her husband, Derek's five year old daughter tripped on a gnarled root protruding from the base of an eerily leafless tree. As swiftly as a lightning bolt striking a tree, Erik swooped down and carried his granddaughter to the vehicle. T he brave little girl cried only briefly.

It appeared to be only moments later when they arrived at Erik's home. His children knew the house well. They had all grown up in it.. Erik asked his butler, an Englishman named Elijah, to have Cook prepare hot chocolate and tea for them.

Erik's family went into the study to warm themselves by the fire. A fire crackled in the beautiful, massive fireplace. Erik went over to stand by his youngest daughter, Thia, who stood by an oversized window that provided a perfect view of the extensive gardens.

Thia turned to face her father. "we will not be able to go home tonight," she admitted. "Not with the weather like this."

Erik turned his head away from his child and stared out the window. It was as if he viewed another world, a world of complete white. A blizzard had crept upon the chateau, engulfing it in a sea of velvety white. When they left the cemetery Erik had observed a light snowfall begin, but it did not seem to indicate a blizzard of these proportions.

"You all must stay the night," Erik directed his reply to the entire silent family. He addressed his oldest daughter, "Serena, you and Derek can stay in your old rooms. You may go into your mother's wardrobe and borrow fresh clothing. The two of you always were the same size. "Derek," addressing his son-in-law, "You should borrow some of Gaston's clothing. He still has plenty left in his rooms and is somewhat closer to your height than I." He turned back toward Serena, "Some of Kara's things are still in your quarters from the last time you visited."

Erik gave similar instructions to the rest of the family. The mahogany grand clock in the hall struck nine. Elijah herded the smaller groups down the hall to their respective sleeping quarters. Erik drifted up the many flights of stairs to the attic.

Erik entered the intimate space above the vast lonely expanse of his chateau. Shaking his head to remove himself of the sorrow, he walked to an old, dusty chest made of wood and brass.

He removed a lavish brass key from a gold chain around his neck. Erik fitted the key into an equally lavish brass lock on the chest. With a sigh of musty air, the chest opened.

Erik searched through the silk lining of the chest. His hands met the icy surface of a picture frame. The frame was made of silver, shaped like leaves and stems on top of an abalone surface of roses made of hundreds of tiny rubies.

Erik pulled the frame from the chest. The picture within was of Linette, exactly as she was when he first saw her. It was a detailed drawing Erik had begun using his almost perfectly photographic memory. He was inspired to create the picture since the first moment he laid eyes on her. Later, when she sat in the parlor of his home for him to complete the picture, he added colored paint to the charcoal sketch.

Making certain that none of his renewed tears hit the painting, Erik closed and locked the trunk. He glided towards the stairs. Taking a last glance at the trunk, he began his descent back into the world of the living and the new.

The next morning, Erik's cook, Mathilda Johnson, a slightly plump, pleasant Englishwoman whose cooking could make even the most stubborn person's mouth water, made a huge breakfast with a wide variety of food. Although the food tasted heavenly, the family's conversations were stilted at best. At one point during the meal, each adult realized the reason for their lack of communication: Linette was not there.

Linette was always the one to start the flow of talk, the one to make them all comfortable, the one to make them laugh. Since she was gone, no one knew where to begin. Erik was not particularly a sociable person, neither was Serena. Although Thia and Gaston had their mother's social skills, finding an acceptable theme for conversation, given the circumstances, was a feat only Linette could have accomplished.

After the isolated meal, Thia's twin daughters, Amaryllis and Narcisse, played with the China dolls that their father bought for them in Germany. The dolls were unique. They looked strikingly similar to the twins for whom they were made. The dolls had white porcelain skin, rosy pink cheeks, light blue eyes, and hair in tight curls, so dark, it was almost black. The dolls wore long gowns. One was blue and the other was pink, with bows in their hair matching the dresses, and white shoes. Since Amaryllis and Narcisse were both in that stage in their lives where brushing a doll's hair brings the most exquisite pleasure, they were entirely entranced. They scarcely remembered that their father was in Germany for business again, or that they were trapped in a mysterious chateau by a blizzard.

Derek and Gaston were discussing Derek's musical career and Gaston's scientific studies. The two of them had interests, tastes, hobbies, and opinions so similar that they appeared to naturally be brothers, not brothers through marriage. Their differences lay in physical appearances, age, and Derek's passionate adoration of Serena. Thia and Arianne were watching Thia's daughters giggle with delight at their dolls, while Arianne and Gaston's son, Lionel, was playing with his cousin Kara.

The entire household was making the most of their infrequent time together. Everyone was happy, except for Serena and her father. The melancholy atmosphere from the previous day's excursion had not yet departed from the pair.

"How did you meet her, papa?" Serena verbalized her thought to her father and asked the questions she had sought answers to for years. "How did you fall in love?"

"I assume you mean your mother?" Erik inquired. When Serena nodded, he added, "That is a long and complicated story, with answers both excruciating and wonderful."

Sensing that her father would not elaborate willingly, Serena tried a new tactic. "I must, at least, know why you refuse to talk about it. Why is it so painful?"

Erik searched his daughter's eyes and found his own stubborn nature. He knew she would never leave the subject alone without answers. "Come with me." He held out his hand to her, "I believe I know something that will answer all of your questions." Serena, shocked, yet delighted by her father's sudden acquiescence, accepted his arm and together they traveled to a part of the chateau Serena had never seen before.

Erik took Serena to the same chest he had removed his prized painting from the day before. He opened the chest, and again his hands moved of their own accord to find the object he sought. He pulled a box made of solid oak wood. It had carvings of roses and songbirds on the top. This box, like the chest, containing it, required a key. Erik handed the box to Serena. She turned it over in her hands and examined it from every angle.

"What is it?" Serena questioned Erik.

"This," Erik explained to her, while searching for a small silver key in the chest, "is your mother's story. She wrote down everything that happened to her from the beginning of the year we met, through her disease when she spoke to me and I wrote it. I wrote for her until she could no longer talk. When she died, I put all of the things relating to our love in this chest. The sections of our history that she could not remember she filled in with pages from her diary. My journal is in the box, as well. Combined, they should tell you what you want to know."

Serena looked at the box with awe. She realized that finally, after years of curiosity, she held the story of the two people who, besides Kara, meant the most to her, her parents.

Serena and Erik walked arm in arm to the rest of their family, after making a slight detour to leave the treasured box in her boudoir.

As the pair left her chambers, Serena knew that, no matter how long she had waited for the truth almost within her grasp, she would have to wait until the rest of the household was asleep, when she could read in privacy. Appearing as if nothing had transpired and as if she was not impatient for the night, Serena entered her family's company.

When Kara spied her mother she pranced to Serena's side. "Maman, look at what Lionel gave me!" Kara exclaimed, holding up a lacquered box of cherry wood with white roses painted on top. "It is a music box!" Kara demonstrated the box's genius by turning the small key the the back. "It plays our lullaby." A sweet melody began, the song that Linette sang to Serena and Serena sang to Kara. It was a heartfelt tune that was almost hypnotically calming.

Serena smiled.. "It is beautiful, ma cherie," she cooed to her daughter. "I hope you thanked your cousin for this marvelous gift."

"Of course I did, maman," Kara retorted playfully. The child then proceeded to snatch back the little box and run off to share her new treasure with the others. Behind her, Serena could feel Erik tense. She stepped towards him.

"What is the matter, papa?" Serena inquired.

"I will have to ask Gaston where his son got that box," Erik muttered, more to himself than to her.

"Papa?" Serena pleaded, knowing that when her father entered the world of his memories, it was immensely difficult to pull him back out. His daughter's plea managed to penetrate his thoughts. Erik's eyes lost their faraway look.

"My father... made that for my mother," he stumbled over the words, as if they were physically painful.

Serena decided it would be best to drop the subject and wait for night to come.

The day passed too slowly for Serena, much too slowly. She attempted to conceal her impatience from her family, but was simultaneously certain that her husband could tell. To distract herself from the love story she wanted so desperately to read, she tried to fill her thoughts with her own. She remembered when she first met Derek.

She was in Paris at the Opera Populaire, watching the performance of "Faust," in which Derek starred. She was only eighteen years old and it was the first opera she had seen. Once the performance was over and the actors had taken their bows, her mother, Gaston, Thia, Serena and their hosts stayed behind. Her hosts invited the entire cast to a masquerade ball at their home. The ball was in the visiting family's honor. The masquerade was so Erik could wander freely amongst the guests.

Serena began humming the song she and Derek had danced to. Derek caught her eyes, winked, and smiled, recognizing the tune. He started laughing when a colossal blush painted his wife's face.

"What is so humorous, Derek?" Erik implored with his eyebrows raised. He had already noticed Serena's blush, which deepened with his question, but did not draw attention to it.

"Nothing incredibly interesting." Derek made a noncommittal hand gesture. "I was just thinking about a joke Gaston told me earlier. It finally made sense to me," Derek lied, convincing all there, except his wife and father-in-law. The visible half of Erik's mouth turned up in a momentary flash of a smile. The brief smirk deepened Serena's blush even more.

Their dinner finished, the children ran to the nursery to play with their new toys, all gifts from Erik, except Kara's music box. The adults strolled to the main parlor for the customary post supper tete-a-tete.

Finally, after what felt to Serena like decades, the adults dispersed to tell their children, "Good night." When Serena made certain that her daughter was slumbering peacefully, she was, at last, able to retreat to her rooms with her husband. Serena frequently remained awake longer than Derek to read. She simply did not have excess time during the daylight hours.

Serena silently crept into her boudoir so as not to awaken her husband. She carefully lifted the cherished box, and ventured with it to her mother's library, knowing no one would disturb her there. Once inside the library, Serena sat in her favorite chair, a plush, deep red leather chair, which she had always rested on with Linette while they read together. Serena opened the box and removed a thick, heavy book with a cover of tooled leather. Opening it to the first page, she found her mother's flawless script. With a deep breath she began to read.


	2. Chapter 2: Serena

**Author's note: Thank you everyone who read this and especially those who favorited it! You guys are amazing! Also, please comment!**

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My parents' story began with a note to me. Apparently mamman knew that one day I would ask for answers and that this would be the easiest way to give them to me. The note said,

_My dearest Serena,_

_If you are reading this, then it means you have finally asked the questions I could always see burning in your mind. I knew when I started to write this that it was the only way to tell you with any accuracy the events on my past._

_Your father has always been the love of my life, even before I realized it. Our love, however, began rather peculiarly._

_By the time you read this, you will almost certainly have read the novel by Gaston Leroux, __Le Fant__ô__me de l'Opera__ or __the Phantom of the Opera__. You probably have been told by many others that it is brilliant fiction, which is only partially true. It is brilliant, but the events described in it are not fiction, they are history perfectly disguised as fiction._

_You may wonder why I am taking such measures to tell you something seemingly unrelated to our family. The truth is, the Erik of the novel is your grandfather._

When I read those words, I nearly fainted. I did, however, drop the book with its impossible claims. How could _I_ be a relation of the opera ghost? I realized that the answer to that question was most likely in the rest of my mother's note.

I hastily retrieved the book from the persian rug and continued to read. What followed was even more shocking.

_Your grandfather was in love with a singer named Christine Daa__é__. In fact, everything in the book was true, except for the dates and Leroux's claims of finding the body. When your father was telling the story to Monsieur Leroux, he wrote down the dates incorrectly, but more of that story will come later._

_There is yet another falsehood in the novel, but this one was intentional. Your father had but one condition when he decided to tell his father's story: his own existence must not be known under any circumstance._

_To protect Erik's privacy, M. Leroux created a different ending for the story, one where Christine left and Erik died alone and unloved. M. Leroux also left one crucial detail unwritten. That detail was Christine's growing love for her mentor. _

_Christine regretted leaving the man whom she realized she truly loved. She left Raoul and returned to Erik. They had a son, your father. Their story, no matter how happy once she returned, did not end happily. Christine died when your father was only eight years old. To make matters worse for the family, your father was disfigured. His disfigurement was not as severe as his father's had been, since it was only on one side of his face, but it was enough to hurt his self esteem. His father was depressed and lonely. His only comfort was his son. He showed his son the love that he had never known from a parent, but was never truly happy __without Christine. He only outlived her by seven years._

_Now that you know the background of my story, you will be able to understand the events that occurred since I moved to Paris from London._

_I hope my writing helps you to learn what you have yearned to now for so many years. I love you, my darling._

_~Linette Viardot_

The shortened story my mother had written to help me understand my father made me feel a stronger connection to him. I realized that he had not only lost his wife, but probably the only woman to ever believe that he was beautiful. The realization brought tears to my eyes and for a moment I could not read.

I dried my tears and began to read the book itself.

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**Author's Note: Sorry about the shortness of this chapter, but I promise that the next will be longer. **


	3. Chapter 3: Linette

**Author's Note: As promised, this chapter is longer. Much, much longer. I would like to thank everyone who has read, favorited, and followed this story! I really hope that you all enjoy it! I would be so very very very very happy if you would leave comments! Please please please comment! I would be so very grateful for anything: ideas, comments, opinions, constructive criticisms, anything! Please please please comment! Thank you all for taking the time to read my story. I really hope that you enjoy this chapter and the story in general.**

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I left England to pursue a career I could only have in Paris. True, there are many other cities in the world which have opera, but I only desired to sing in Paris. My Maman was French, but she left her beloved country to marry Papa. They moved into his home in the English countryside. When I was little, Maman would tell me beautiful stories of her home in Paris and taught me to speak French. I was fluent. All of our private conversations were in French. It was our secret language. She also instilled upon me a deep appreciation for music.

My singing career began before I could even remember, I simply loved music. My parents told me that I had the voice of an angel. Everyone who heard me sing agreed, but those people were scarce. I was a shy child who only spoke to people I already knew and only sang to those I trusted. Despite my fears, I craved to sing to an audience. Whenever I was alone, doing chores, or with my closest, and only, friends, I would sing with all my might.

One day, coincidentally the day after my nineteenth birthday, while I was picking flowers for Maman, I was singing "Oui, c'est toi que j'aime" from Faust and someone heard me. When I heard applause at the end of my aria, I froze. A French woman moved into my view. She was no longer in her youth. She was about five feet tall with greying hair wrapped tightly in a bun and laugh lines around her eyes. She wore a long, black mourning gown that appeared to be a few decades old. She began to speak to me in French. She told me that her name was Mme Reyer and that her husband was the Maestro of the Palais Garnier, the famous Paris opera house.

She told me that there was a vacancy in the cast. One of the chorus girls had gotten married and moved to the south of France with her new husband. She told me that I should go to Paris and audition. She said that, based on what she heard of my singing, she believed that I could easily be the lead soprano at the Opera and because of that, I was almost guaranteed a position in the chorus.

I was stunned beyond expression. Very few people had ever heard me sing and since those people were all either my closest friends or family, I always worried that when they told me I had an amazing voice they were merely lying to spare my feelings. It shocked and amazed me that the first time someone unknown to me heard my voice, she offered the first step towards my dearest dream.

I did not know whether or not to believe her tale, she could easily be lying about her husband. I realized that my Papa would know. I invited Mme Reyer to come to my home to meet my parents and talk to them before I decided what to do. She agreed. We spoke of music the entire journey.

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When we finally arrived, I introduced her to my parents. Maman immediately liked her. "At last, another Frenchwoman!" Maman whispered to me. "I have felt so outnumbered by the English for so long."

When Mme Reyer finished her tale, Maman clasped her hands with excitement and smiled broadly. Papa, however, was not so easily convinced. He wanted proof that she was not a con woman trying to injure his daughter, and told her as much.

Madame Reyer huffed with indignation, but remained polite. "My husband and I are going to see Don Giovanni in the Covent Gardens tomorrow," now speaking only to Maman and me since she was cross with Papa. "Perhaps you would desire to accompany us. We have a private box reserved and it can quite comfortably seat three more."

Maman and I were nearly jumping with excitement, but could not jump or squeal in front of a guest. From Papa's expression, he was debating how best to refuse without offending Mme Reyer further. Maman stepped up to him and whispered in English, "Darling, if we meet her husband at the Opera, you might find the proof you require. If not, we will at least have the pleasure of taking our daughter to the Opera. She has longed to go for so very long, surely you cannot deny her this?"

Papa's expression softened considerably and he hesitantly consented. He nodded to Maman who turned to Mme Reyer and said in French, "My family and I would love to accompany you, Madame. Thanks you for your generous offer." Mme Reyer was pleased with that answer. She seemed to be a kind woman, but one who could be strict and give punishment when necessary.

"Would you care to stay for supper, Mme Reyer?" Maman inquired in French. "We would love to have you."

"Merci beaucoup, Mme Harris, but I regret to say that I am meeting an old friend for supper," she replied. "We should meet outside of the opera house tomorrow. There you will meet my husband and we will escort you to the box."

We said farewells and Mme Reyer departed. I slowly wandered towards the library. Maman and Papa thought that I was out of earshot, so they began arguing.

"Why is it so difficult for you to believe that someone important in the musical world would recognize Linette's talent?" Maman asked accusingly.

"I do not have trouble believing in her talent, I just do not want anyone to cause our baby girl harm," Papa reasoned.

"You could see as well as I that she was telling the truth," Maman said. "So what is your real reason for not wanting to let Linette accept her offer?"

Papa sighed and answered softly, "She would leave us to go to Paris. I do not want her to be hurt and I cannot protect her there."

"She will have to leave us eventually, mon amour. She is nineteen years old now, a woman. She needs to find her own place in the world, without her parents."

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The night of our excursion to Covent Gardens came eventually. Even though I knew I would see the opera in fewer than twenty four hours, it felt like an eternity. I could not perform my everyday tasks with the patience and care I normally had. Instead, I rushed through them, willing the hours to tick by with speed. The malicious clock, however, would not comply and moved more slowly than it ever had before.

At long last, it was time for me to get ready. I wore my best dress, which was the color of the sea on a sunny day, white gloves, white shoes, and Maman's pearl necklace. When I stepped out of my bedroom to show Maman, she covered her mouth with her hand and looked as if she was about to cry. "Ma chérie, tu es trés belle!" she exclaimed, hugging me tightly.

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We arrived at Covent Gardens in my father's carriage. Mme Reyer greeted us. Mme Reyer introduced us to her husband. M. Reyer was taller than his wife and had greying hair and hazel eyes. The couple led us to the box, explaining that the reason they had such terrific seats was because the manager of Covent Gardens was a close friend of M. Reyer.

The box had red velvet seats that were amazingly soft. It also had a spectacular view of the stage. I sighed. If only I could perform on a stage like that one. The lights dimmed. The opera was beginning.

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After the cast took their bows and the audience left the building, our party made our way to the stage. The actors all but threw each other out of the way for a chance to speak and shake hands with M. Reyer. They all treated him like a deity, a god of opera. Their behavior was enough to convince Papa.

As we left the building, Papa questioned M. Reyer about my future career. At Papa's display of consent, the Reyers grinned. "Linette should probably accompany us to Paris in a week," he explained in English. "The boat's captain is a friend of mine and he will accommodate the addition of the young lady. She will then audition for the casting director. If she is selected, she will be a part of the cast. She will have sleeping quarters in the opera house. My wife or she will write to tell you the date of her first performance."

I felt like dancing in the street, my dream was _so_ close! Sadly, etiquette frowned upon such actions in public. Paris, the most romantic city, the city Maman grew up in would be my home in only seven days! I could contain the urge to dance, but not the immense smile that exploded on my face.

We parted ways and departed in our separate carriages. It was late when we got home. Thankfully, we had already eaten supper. We all went straight to bed. I could not fall asleep because of how excited I was. I read until it was very late and I finally fell asleep. All of my dreams were of the Paris opera house.

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**Author's Note:**

**Here's a translation of all of the French words and phrases:**

**Maman = mama**

**Merci beaucoup = Thank you very much**

**Mon amour = my love**

**Ma chérie, tu es trés belle = my darling, you are very beautiful**

**Oui, c'est toi que j'aime = Yes, it's you that I love**


	4. Chapter 4: Linette

**Author's Note: I was going to post this chapter yesterday, but I was busy watching the Les Mis DVD, and then I had to do something and I didn't get home until late at night. I really want to thank everyone who, followed, favorited, and read my story. Thank you all for the support you're showing me! I especially want to thank judybear236 for your lovely comments! Thank you so much! I hope that you all enjoy this chapter!**

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Seven days in proportion to all the days the world has seen is the blink of an eye, the tiniest heartbeat, the flutter of an eyelash. Seven days while waiting to leave for Paris is an eternity.

I can honestly say that I have no memory of six of those seven days at all, except growing impatience gnawing at my very core. I do however remember the day before my ship left for Paris. That was a day full of packing. Maman and I managed to pack practically everything of any significance to me into three small valises.

The next day, the day I was due to depart, Maman could not stop crying. She did not want to lose her baby, but she knew that my destiny was calling for me to leave. When I was about to board the ship, Maman grabbed me in a smothering embrace and sobbed in my ear, "Write to me often, ma cherie." I choked back my own tears, smiled, and waved "good-bye," finally beginning my journey.

The trip was short, but wonderful. I loved the feeling of the salt-scented wind on my face, the low grumble of the waves, and the sight of the sparkling jewel that was the ocean. Standing at the front of the ship with the wind flying past me, I felt like I was flying. I loved the sea from the first moment I laid eyes on it.

All too soon, yet not soon enough, I had to leave the sea. We arrived in France and took a carriage to Paris. I loved looking out the window and watching the countryside fly by.

Paris was amazing. I had never seen anything like it in my entire life. I was and am a lover of nature, but the city was stunning. I wished that I could spend all day in the museums and just wandering through the city, but I knew that there would be time for that later. For the time being, the opera house awaited me.

The rest of the city was beautiful, but the Palais Garnier took my breath away. It was monumental. It had golden statues, huge columns, stone statues everywhere, and a green dome on top. I felt insignficant standing beside it. Before me was the home of all of the greatest opera stars. Those people deserved to walk those hallowed halls, not I. I had to remind myself that I was there because of _my _voice, _my_ talent. I gathered the strength to enter the building. Its marvelous exterior was nothing compared to its interior.

Its name is completely accurate, it is a palace. Its corridors, staircases, murals, statues, everything belong nowhere else but in that incredible building. The most exquisite part of it was the auditorium. It was gargantuan. It had hundreds of red velvet seats, gold everywhere, golden statues that looked as if they were just about to walk from the walls and ceiling, a stage that made me feel like an ant, and a crystal chandelier that outshone the sun. The entire room brought tears to my eyes. From that moment on, there was nothing I wanted more in the world than to perform on that stage.

My chance to do just that arrived. Everyone auditioning for the chorus had gathered on that blessed stage and were chatting away. I joined them and stood waiting patiently for my turn to sing, mildly chatting with the other girls. I listened to the other girls singing. Most of them were either deaf or delusional to believe that they were at all good. Some girls, however, were terrific.

There was only one opening in the cast, how was I, a humble girl from England, supposed to compete with them? I tried to calm my nerves by remembering that the amazing voices were few and far between. I waited for what seemed like an eternity, but was probably only a couple hours at most. Finally, my time had come.

"Linette Harris?" The question broke my reverie. I actually startled, surprised to hear my name. "Please step to center stage," the casting director instructed me. I did as told. "What will you be singing Mlle Harris?" It took me a moment to gather my wits and remember which song I had chosen.

"Je Veux Vivre, from Roméo et Juliette," I answered.

"You may begin, mademoiselle."

When I began to sing, it was almost a whisper. Quickly, I forgot the stage of potential singers, the casting director, even where I was. I was in the middle of a tornado of emotions and notes. I imagined I was in my meadow, singing to the flowers.

As the last note echoed through the room, my mind re-entered my body. I looked at the casting director. He had his mouth open like a fish. After an excruciating silence, applause erupted from everyone there. The casting director decided that, since I was the last singer to perform, it was a perfect time to address all of us.

"Mademoiselles, we will contact you when we have decided whom to cast. Au revoir." I looked at the other girls, they looked dismayed. Some were actually crying. I heard whispers and felt gazes on my back as I left the stage.

Madame Reyer grabbed me by the shoulders. "That was incredible, Linette!" was all I could understand of her long speech in very rushed French.

As we left the Palais Garnier, I looked back. I had felt a pair of eyes boring a hole through my back. I thought I saw a shadow move in one of the boxes, but brushed it off as a product of my over-active imagination coupled with the excitement of the day.

Madame Reyer insisted that I stay with them until we heard the results of the evening. I followed her to the carriage. monsieur stayed behind, busy helping with the decision-making at the opera house. We rode away to her home. As we rode away, my thoughts were on the inevitable letter and whether it contained wonderful or dreadful news.

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**Author's note: What do you think? Please comment!**


	5. Chapter 5: Erik

**Author's Note: Sorry it took me a while to post this, I was viciously mauled by a plot bunny for a Les Mis fanfic (which you should check out BTW) and had to write it. As always, REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW! **

**Disclaimer: I own none of the characters from the original Phantom, but most of the characters I use are my own.**

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Whenever the opera needs a new cast member, I hide in father's box and listen to the auditions. I enjoy silently laughing at all of the terrible singers, it lends me a brief escape from my almost complete isolation and a glimpse at humanity.

The last girl took center stage. She was exquisitely, breathtakingly beautiful. When she opened her mouth to sing, I nearly fled. If that gorgeous creature had the voice of a toad, the few remaining wisps of faith I had in humanity would have vanished, but I was rooted in place. She began to sing and I forgot how to breathe. Her voice was the most amazing sound I had ever heard. It was as if heaven had opened up and all the angels were serenading me. I nearly leaned closer to catch more of the sweet melody, but caught myself. No one must know I was there, especially not her. When she finished, I wanted to beg her to continue singing, but years of self-control won in the end.

As all of the hopefuls left, I watched the girl with the perfect voice. She was stopped by my only friend, Mme Reyer. Mme Reyer was the youngest sister of father's friend, Antoinette Giry. Mme Reyer took care of me after father's death. My heart jumped into my mouth, if she was friends with the girl, I could learn more about her!

Mme Reyer spoke to her, "That was incredible, Linette!"

_Linette_. The rest of the world seemed to disappear, such a beautiful name. "Songbird," the name suited her perfectly. When she disappeared out the doors with Mme Reyer, I hastened to my home under the opera house.

Once home, I threw off my coat and fedora, ran into the studio, and began to sketch. My drawings were the only way to have people near me who wouldn't be terrified by my face and somewhat eccentric behaviors. I used my near-perfect memory to draw Linette. I gave my sketch the blinding smile she had while she sang, the graceful waterfall of auburn curls, the perfect, full, rose fed lips, and enormous doe's eyes, but to color them would be a challenge. Her eyes changed color like the sea.

I finished the sketch, it was in black charcoal. Maybe, one day I could finish it in paint, if she would sit for me. My mind flooded with an image of her, sitting on the stool in my studio as I painted her. In my vision, she was smiling and laughing, not screaming in horror or shrinking away from my monstrous face.

I wanted to believe that someone could look past my deformity, like mother had for father. She had loved him more than she had loved a man with a perfect face, even though his deformity was worse than mine. I knew nothing of this girl Linette, except that her face and voice were perfect and I wanted her to be the woman to love me for myself, despite my face. I hoped that her personality would be as beautiful as her voice.

There was no doubt in my mind that she would join the cast, she outshone all of the others there. I knew that they would contact her the next day to tell her the news and that she would come to live at the Palais Garnier with the other cast members.

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The next day, I awoke alone, screaming. I had the nightmare again. I heard the clock strike five. I fell back against the sheets and groaned. It was far too early to brave the streets of Paris as I usually did in the mornings.

I decided to use the emotions raging through my heart to compose more of the opera I was writing. So far, the music conveyed sadness, anger, pain, and loss, but I had a new emotion to put into notes. That emotion was hope.

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**Author's note: So, what do you think? I would sincerely love to hear from you, no matter what you have to say! PLEASE REVIEW, I'm begging here! Also, yeah, Erik is a tad bit of a stalker, but when isn't he? Okay, I toned down the stalking a tad bit. **


	6. Chapter 6: Erik

**Author's Note: Sorry that it's been so long! I've been preoccupied with my Les Mis fanfic, school, homework, and my school's play. Sadly, for this play, I'm tech and not actually in it, but I'm glad to be a part of it anyways. I just got sick, so I actually had time to write this!**

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The next time I looked at the clock, it was mid day. _Linette should be receiving the news now. _I thought. _She will be arriving soon... Stop thinking that way. You are not going to stalk her like a real phantom._ I turned my thoughts away from Linette and towards the real reason my composing was interrupted, my growling stomach. I still had leftovers from dinner and was not in the mood to make anything new.

I ate my meal alone with my thoughts. As I was cleaning, I was also trying to tell myself that following her around all day would be a really horrible idea. I suddenly remembered that there was another matteer I should attend to: the construction of my new home.

I had written several operas before, all of which I sold to the highest bidder. The money I had earned was enough to realize one of my dreams and build a house away from prying eyes that was not the hell-hole in which I currently resided. I found a perfectly isolated hill with breathtaking views from all angles and quickly bought the property. I hired builders through Mme Reyer so that they would never see my face.

My private chateau was almost complete. All it lacked was paint in the master bedroom, the floor of the parlor needed staining, and furniture needed to be moved in. I had all of the furniture ready. Most of it I had built myself, the rest was either a gift from Mme Reyer or from maman's bedroom.

I set out to check on the progress. I silently traversed the hidden corridors inside the walls. Father had been one of the original builders of the Palais Garnier and had built the passageways as a means of navigation through his new home. He had taught me how to navigate all of the different passageways through the opera house when I was very young.

I had stopped moving at one point to avoid being seen by a group of chorus girls. I realized that Linette was among them. _Good for her._ I thought to myself. _I knew the managers would hire her. _She was shy at first, but as I watched through a one-way mirror, another of father's inventions, she became comfortable with them. Soon she was talking and laughing with the rest of the group.

Sooner than I had anticipated, M. Reyer arrived to begin the rehearsals. I realized that I had been accidentally stalking Linette, just as I had sworn I would not do. I forced myself to make a move away, but froze when Linette's voice joined the others. Even though she did not sing with the confidence she had possessed the day before, she was very obviously better than the others.

As she sang, her confidence grew. Soon, the others in the chorus had quieted so that the could listen to her. Her voice radiated strength and beauty. I couldn't help but stand there, dumbstruck.

I could tell from the mixed looks of jealousy and awe from her fellow chorus members that they knew she surpassed them. When Linette realized that she was singing alone and everyone was staring at her, she blushed and stopped.

The whole chorus began to sing again and Linette joined them, this time keeping her voice in check. I wondered why she was so shy. With a voice like hers, she could easily be Prima Donna.

As rehearsals came to a close, Linette left with Mme Reyer's daughter, Sophie. Their departure brought me back to reality. As I made my way out of the opera house and to my new home for the inspection, I mentally berated myself for watching her like that.


	7. Chapter 7: Erik

**Author's Note: I am soooooooooooooooooooooooooooo... beyond sorry for the long wait. Please forgive me! I brought you a chapter, so that should help. Love you all so much for putting up with me! Also, as an extra attempt to ease your anger, this chapter is longer than the others! Lastly, the song "No One Would Listen" is kind of the theme song for this story, and any Phantom related story for that matter. Look it up, it's beautiful.**

**Also, if you have facebook, please look up my page, Christine Éponine. If you like it, I will give you a sneak peek at future chapters if you like. The main reason I want you to like it is because I use the page for feedback and encouragement to keep writing. With your support, I might actually update this story more often!**

**Disclaimer: Any characters and situations from the original story are not mine, the rest are.**

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The inspection of my chateau went very well. It was almost complete. The workers were very dependable and hard working. As I returned to the home I had known for most of my existence, I felt an unfamiliar sense of disappointment. I truly did not want to leave the light and hope in favor of dark and sorrow, but I had no choice. Not until the chateau was completed, anyway.

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The next day passed in much the same way as the previous, Linette sang with the chorus and I tried not to stalk her, unsuccessfully. Apparently I was more like my father than I would care to admit. I never thought I was the type to obsess over a chorus girl. I have never been so wrong in my entire life.

As I watched, her best friend, Sophie, sprained her ankle during ballet rehearsals. None of her fellow dancers seemed to care, continuing their practice with only a brief glance at their injured peer. Linette was different. The moment she saw Sophie was hurt, she rushed over to her. Once she learned what had happened, she crouched next to her friend, pulled the injured girl's arm over her shoulder, and helped her to stand with most of her weight being supported by Linette. Slowly, the pair moved backstage where Linette helped Sophie into a chair. Once she was comfortably situated, Linette ran off and I managed to not follow her. She returned some minutes later with ice wrapped in a cloth, which she handed to her friend. Even though I could not hear their conversation over the bustle of stagehands, the look of pure gratitude on Sophie's face spoke volumes.

When the rehearsals were finished and everyone had retreated to the dormitories, I made my way back to my prison beneath the opera house. My thoughts uncontrollably went to Linette. Not many people had the kindness to do what she had done for her friend. I was so absorbed in my thoughts that I did not notice that my lair was not empty until a voice called my name.

"Good evening, Erik," the voice greeted. I immediately tensed, my hand automatically gripping the Punjab lasso I kept with me at all times. My eyes scanned the room, searching for danger. When I saw who was in my house, I relaxed from the defensive position I had been in.

"Good evening, Mme Reyer," I replied, smiling as I withdrew my hand from within my coat. "I apologize for being late, I did not remember that today was the day of your visit." Mme Reyer came to visit me twice a month to deliver things like food and give me a reprieve from my solitude. I removed my cape, fedora, and coat and placed them carefully on the hand-carved coat rack which stood next to the entrance to my lair. When I had finished, I walked over to the table at which Mme Reyer was sitting, sitting myself opposite her.

We exchanged the usual pleasantries and small talk. When Mme Reyer mentioned Sophie's sprained ankle, I told her that I had seen what happened and that Sophie was lucky to have as kind a friend as Linette to look after her. Mme Reyer's eyebrow shot up when I used Linette's name. "You know Linette?" she asked suspiciously while I mentally berated myself for making such an idiotic mistake.

"Yes... I mean, not exactly... I mean..." I stammered, frantically searching for a way to explain my connection to the girl without revealing how much I had followed her around. I eventually decided upon the truth, but not all of it. "I heard her audition. I heard you congratulating her and using her name," I explained. Mme Reyer's eyes narrowed slightly and I had the distinct feeling that she knew I was leaving out key details.

"So the 'moving shadow' Linette spoke of after her audition was you, Erik?" she inquired. A small smile appeared on her face. "You truly are your father's son. Yet, you do not lie nearly as well as he. I suppose that is Christine's honesty showing through." She paused for a minute, looking at me as though she was reading my mind and learning all of my secrets, making me fidget in nervousness. Mme Reyer was far too good at reading my thoughts and feelings for my comfort. "How did you come across the scene of my daughter's injury? I do not think you were merely passing by," she hypothesized. I could feel a blush spread across my face. "Ah, so it truly was no accident then. Why were you there?" I lowered my gaze to my hands, hoping the cessation of eye contact would prevent her from deducing the truth. It did not work. "You were following Linette," she concluded. "Why?"

Keeping my gaze fixedly on my hands I muttered, "She has an exquisite voice. You know how I am drawn to beautiful music." I risked a quick glance at Mme Reyer to ascertain whether or not she believed my answer. Her gaze was still far too penetrating for my tastes.

"You want to find your Christine," she decided. "That is it, is it not?" When I blushed an even deeper red, she had her answer. "I cannot blame you for wanting the connection your parents had, but why Linette? There are many other girls in the company, some of them are extremely talented singers, so why did you single out Linette?"

I had nothing left to hide, she had already uncovered my secrets, so I resigned myself to telling her the truth. That did not mean I knew how to explain the connection I had felt the moment I saw Linette. "Well, I... I mean she... Um..." I stuttered, trying to figure out exactly _why_ I was so drawn to her.

Mme Reyer looked as though she was trying very hard to not laugh at my blundering. I had always been very certain of myself when I spoke before, but I was at a loss for words twice in one day. Mme Reyer, bless her, decided to end my discomfort and tell me about the girl I was obviously taken with. "She is more than a pretty face and angelic voice," she explained. "She is smart. She loves reading and writing, but music is her life, much like yourself. In many ways you two are very similar. You both are shy, have little to no faith in yourselves, and have very few friends, but are extremely protective of those you do have." I was shocked into speechlessness. I was not aware that we had so much in common. _Why would she have little faith in herself? _I wondered. I could not find my voice to ask that question out loud. Mme Reyer took my silence as her cue to continue talking. "Try to be her friend," she suggested. "She appear happy, but I can tell that she is very lonely. She needs someone who understands loneliness and so do you."_  
_

I did not believe that there was any chance Linette could be lonely enough to desire _my_ company. "Who could ever love, or even like, a monster such as myself?" I retorted, gesturing to my mask. It was not worth the pain of rejection to allow myself to hope.

"Please, Erik, just try. She may surprise you," Mme Reyer insisted. I reluctantly agreed. After all, despite my best efforts to the contrary, hope was a difficult thing to kill.

We spoke for a bit longer, thankfully of a different topic. When Mme Reyer stood to leave, she placed a hand on my shoulder. "Do not forget your promise," she instructed. When I nodded in agreement, she smiled and left.

When I was alone once more, I debated with myself if I should keep my promise to Mme Reyer. In the end, hope won out and I decided to try to be her friend. The logic that won the debate was that if I did not, the missed opportunity would haunt me for the rest of my days. Even though rejection would be excruciating, there was always a small chance that she would not reject me. If I did not try, there was no chance at all, merely torment that would slowly drive me mad. The only problem with the plan was when and how to approach Linette.

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**Author's Note: Please, please, please, please review! I can't tell you how much your reviews inspire me to keep writing. **


	8. EXTREMELY Important author's note

**Hi guys. Sorry to be writing this. I really hate giving false hope, but it must be done. School starts in two weeks and I still have to write at least one essay, memorize the presidents of the United States in order, and be able to identify all of the states on a map, so I may not be able to update before school starts. I am working on chapters for both ****Flowers of Rain**** and ****Defying the Laws of Fiction**** and I already wrote a ton of chapters for ****The Truth Behind the Mask**** which I have not yet uploaded. Best case scenario is that I'll be able to update them, but it's very likely that I won't. **

**Also, I am an idiot because I am going to be taking 5 AP or honors classes this coming year. My only non AP or honors class is art, which should be fun. I'm not quite sure because I don't really like the idea of someone telling me how to draw for a whole year. I am going to be having a hell of a lot of homework this coming year, so I have absolutely no clue when I'll be able to update. **

**Despite the very likely chance that I will only be able to update on long weekends or school holidays, PLEASE don't give up on me or my stories. Your reviews and messages (iamthedaisyqueen gets a special shout out here, because that was seriously the nicest and most wonderful message I have ever gotten! Thanks so much for that!) are the only things that keep me from complete insanity and hyperventilation, because this school year seriously terrifies me. The only good things are seeing my friends again and my AWESOME backpack that I ordered on amazon yesterday.**

**Do you see why I'm so scared of the work load? My ADD is a major problem. **

**I have one last thing to say, I've started making wire-wrapped jewelry and have gotten quite good at it. (Sorry for the ego there, but it's true.) If you want to see pictures or possibly buy one, please message me. Okay, ad over.**

**I love you all so very much for your kindness and appreciation of my writing. **

**~Christine Éponine**


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